


Lessons For a Friend

by AParticularlyLargeBear



Series: Lessons [11]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParticularlyLargeBear/pseuds/AParticularlyLargeBear
Summary: Lionel, Morgan and Annie are finally making headway towards finding their friends and the Shepherds. However, Morgan's heritage poses an unexpected snag.





	Lessons For a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> So I like diving a bit more into the culture surrounding some things in Fire Emblem. I subscribe to the idea that Grima worshipper =/= Grimleal, which I think is much more interesting than 'All grima worshippers are horrible and evil!'. The Grimleal are a powerful and influential cult, but that's not the whole country (perhaps that's just how the Ylisse-central narrative comes across?)
> 
> Regardless, as a heads up, there's some definite discrimination present here off the basis of Morgan's race. I hope that I've portrayed it with appropriate weight, as I wouldn't want to belittle any such experiences in the slightest.

"Naga above, is that  _grass?_ "

"Can't be. This is Valm. It's some kind of horrifying beast cunningly disguised as a scenic view."

"You two realise that plantlife exists in Valm, yes?"

"Research citation needed, Lionel."

Lionel made a noise in the back of his throat, but even the usual nonsense from his travelling companions couldn't dampen the lift in his spirits at the sight of the barren dirt underfoot giving way to a rolling plain of grasslands, tall grass almost the height of a man. The three of them had spent the last several months trekking their way through a seemingly endless track of badlands, broken up only by intermittent patches of scrub and what few hardy trees could survive in such a dustbowl.

Oh, and there had also been the weeks they'd spent traversing a festering swamp, but Lionel wasn't going to count the utter misery of day after night after day being devoured by swarms of insects, wading through stinking water, and on one memorable slash terrifying occasion running for their lives from some kind of enormous reptile which appeared to consist entirely of teeth and claws.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the fresh grass. It wasn't the meadows of Ylisse, but a little smile crossed his face nonetheless. After all this time, it was finally beginning to feel as if they were closing in on home.

Annie mirrored his exhalation and then went further, trailing into a long and contented sigh. She took a couple of steps past them and then turned, continuing on backwards, eyes closed and a huge grin on her face.

Morgan was smiling too. "This means it can't be too much further until we're in Chon'sin," his expression brightened even further, and he suddenly grabbed Lionel around the waist with a whoop, lifting him slightly off the ground. "We're almost there!"

"Morgan! Let go!" Lionel felt himself starting to laugh, struggling against his friend's grasp.

"Never!"

"GROUP HUG!"

An Annie-sized object crashed into Lionel's back. Morgan squawked in alarm, overbalanced, and the entire pile immediately collapsed into an ungainly heap.

Thankfully, Annie wasn't that heavy.

Less thankfully, Morgan wore armour underneath his coat.

Sharp, hard angles buried themselves directly into Lionel's ribs as he landed on Morgan, Annie promptly sandwiching him between the two of them.

Lionel found his face about an inch apart from Morgan's. The constant hours in the sun had brought out the Plegian in him, turning his skin a dusky tan, lightening the red of his hair until he was almost blonde. This close, the deep purple of the mark of Grima across his cheek almost seemed to shimmer and shift, like its many eyes were staring back at Lionel. His true eyes, a vibrant green, glittered, and despite the fact that he had two people on top of him, Morgan's mouth was turned into a broad grin.

"How forward of you, Lionel."

 The moment broke with an almost audible snap. Lionel scrambled to his feet, Annie still clinging around his neck. His cheeks were suddenly warm, and he attempted to push away the heat with sheer force of will.

Annie giggled directly into his ear, and that did a far better job than he'd managed of clearing it out. Grumbling, he grabbed her hands and detached his friend. Lionel twisted to give her a reproving look, and she responded by sticking out her tongue.

He returned his attention to Morgan, still on the ground and now with his eyes closed. As Lionel watched, he tucked his hands behind his head in a small cushion and gave a breathy hum.

"You okay, Morg?" asked Annie, poking her head around Lionel.

"I'm good, Annie," he replied, lips curving into another smile but not opening his eyes. "This is just nice, is all. Sunshine. No battles."

Lionel nearly spoke, but then hesitated to chip in. He understood the feeling, but couldn't help the twinge of guilt which accompanied the relief of not fearing for his life at every moment. Their friends could be fighting for the future at this very moment, and here the three of them were, half a world away, joking around and enjoying the weather, as safe as one could be on a volatile continent like Valm.

"Feels weird," Annie added, and then after a moment. "I'm glad the two of you are here. I'd go nuts alone."

"Psh. You're nuts already."

" _More_ nuts."

Swallowing, Lionel looked away. Although he didn't want to rain on their parade, contradictory feelings swam through him. Even the lightest of moments back in their time had been little more than a brief reprieve from the despair of the situation. Fleeting happiness had always given way to the reality that any of them could be dead in a day, an hour. This was different. Annie's jokes were not so strained, her smile not forced or pained. She walked with a lighter step again, the almost dancing gait she'd always shown when they were younger. Morgan was the Morgan Lionel remembered from his childhood, the bright and optimistic friend, rather than the disconcertingly cheerful strategist, directing and advising their actions like it was a game against the backdrop of blood and death.

They hadn't won yet. The battle hadn't even started.

Lionel let the chatter fade into the background and attempted to focus, centre himself. There was nothing to be ashamed of. They'd been marching for months and had just now started to feel as if they were making real and tangible progress. It was okay to find a little joy in that. Sooner or later, they would find either their friends or the Shepherds, and then they could set about changing things for the better. Exactly how they'd manage that was a bridge to cross when they reached it. There hadn't been time to plan in the frantic march to Mount Prism, not with every waking moment dedicated to avoiding the Grimleal or fighting their way through Risen.

That he'd found Annie and Morgan so quickly had kindled a hope in Lionel that they'd all arrived together. Tiki had made it clear that such an eventuality was unlikely, but within a half hour, there the two of them were. Subsequently, however, it had become clear that this was the exception rather than the rule. They hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone else since.

Maybe that's why Lionel was finding it so hard to suppress his worried feelings. In their own time, absent had been as good as dead. How many times had comrades or friends gone missing either in the heat of battle or on missions? How many times had they never seen the lost again, or worse, seen them return, but as monsters? Lionel had become used to a certain grim acceptance that any time there was a parting of the ways, there was a very real chance it would be for the final time.

Lionel hadn't realised quite how much he'd internalised that until he found himself clenched with anxiety about his missing friends, slumber dogged by fitful nightmares about the dead.

This attempt to focus wasn't going too well, was it?

The long grass ahead twitched.

Lionel didn't even need to think before his bow was in his hand, an arrow nocked. Behind him he  _felt_ rather than heard Morgan roll to his feet, Annie pull a dagger in hand, fall into her usual low and prepared stance.

The three of them waited for a moment. The grass twitched again.

"Who goes there?" Lionel called out in Rosannian.

A pause, and then a response came, halting, in the Valm trade tongue. "Stand... down. No harm mean."

The accent was Ylissean. Lionel shot a glance to his right, then his left. Morgan was wearing a slight smile, Annie's eyes had widened.

Lionel swapped to Ylissean. "You're a long way from home."

This time, the pause was much longer. "Identify yourself," Ylissean now, but far from friendly.

"Travelers," answered Lionel. "We're looking for some friends," he made a small gesture with his right hand, and Annie slipped off to one side, vanishing into the grass with barely a disturbance.

There was an audible scoff from away in the grass. Lionel spotted a glint of metal. That was one, but whoever heard of a one man patrol?

"In the middle of Valm? Sure you are."

"I can't tell you anything but the truth."

Morgan cut in. "Friend, maybe you can come out where we can see you? It's a little weird to have a conversation with a bush."

Yet another delayed reply. "If you try anything, you'll soon wish you hadn't."

The grass parted further, and out from it emerged an Ylissean soldier, sword drawn. He was still at some distance when his eyes alighted on Morgan and he lurched back, spitting a curse.

"Naga's blood! Grimleal!"

A shout went up from the grass, and suddenly it was chaos as more figures burst out of hiding, a gout of flame bursting up out of nowhere.

Lionel dove to the side, Morgan doing the same.

"It's a  _birthmark!_ " he called out.

Lionel pulled into a crouch, teeth tightly gritted. This was bad. They didn't have anywhere to retreat to in these surroundings, and fighting was, whilst not outside the realms of possibility, a worrying sign for their future prospects; these were Ylissean soldiers! Of all the bloody ways to encounter the army, it had to be with an antsy patrol who couldn't see the first sight of Plegia without thinking Grimleal.

The first man rushed at Lionel, weapon at the ready. He feinted as if to fire an arrow and the soldier twisted to dodge. Lionel let it drop, took a long step forward and then used the Ylissean's movement to hook his foot out from underneath him, bringing him crashing to the ground.

He couldn't help but mouth a 'sorry' before following through with a crunching elbow square to the man's face, knocking him senseless.

"Lionel!"

A wash of energy, a howling gale made manifest crossed right in front of Lionel. There was a gasp of impact as someone was hit, and Lionel looked up just in time to see another of the soldiers flung into the air to land in a heap.

Morgan had a tome in one hand, his lance in the other. In the brief moment Lionel was looking his way, his tome hand was already glowing again, swirling with his arcane powers.

There was a cry off in the distance, and the Ylissean's own mage went down hard. Annie was visible for just an instant, and then vanished once again.

Lionel had a second to start smiling before a heavy impact struck him in the side, sending all the air whooshing out of him. He forced himself not to double over, started to draw his sword—

And then there was a blade to his throat.

"Weapons down," a voice growled.

"Leave him alone!" Morgan's shout had an edge of panic.

"Calm down. No sudden moves."

Lionel slowly flicked his eyes across to the man holding the blade, not daring to move more than that. Tall and slim, eyes just barely visible through the visor of his helmet.

Gods be good, if they'd come all this way just to be killed by their own people...

"Lay down your weapons," the man said again, glancing towards Morgan. He made a frustrated noise, and then there was the sound of something clattering to the floor. Nearby, the soldier who had been knocked over by the wind magic had pushed himself to all fours and was groaning softly.

"They're down! They're down. Now  _please_ take that away from his throat?"

"Where's the other one?"

Lionel grimaced. "Annie. Come out."

The grass rustled, and he saw Annie emerge out of the corner of his eye. The Ylissean looked over, and then back to Lionel.

"Naga be good. You're just children."

"We are not!" Annie snapped. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

The soldier stared down at the bloodied face of the man Lionel had knocked out for a long moment. "Perhaps not," another long pause. "The two of you don't look Plegian. You're keeping dangerous company."

Morgan snorted. Lionel glowered at the man. "Morgan is our friend. If you have an issue with Plegians, I suggest you take it up with the Exalt's tactician."

Even through the helmet, the man's eyes perceptibly widened. "What do you know about the Exalt?"

"What do  _you_ know about the Exalt?" Annie shot back.

 He blinked. "I know that he holds no truck with Grimleal," he answered, guarded.

Morgan groaned. "Not all Plegians are Grimleal—"

"You have the Fell Dragon's mark on your face!"

Lionel risked a look Morgan's way. His friend was wearing a distinctly un-Morgan frown, one part anger, but one part a subtle creasing, a downturn of the mouth. "And, if you'd let me finish, thanks, neither are all Grima worshippers," his tone was relatively light, but contained a slight hitch that it hadn't before.

The soldier scoffed. "You mean to say you follow the god of annihilation and aren't a cultist?"

"Oh!" Morgan said brightly. "I didn't realise you were a theologian as well as a soldier. Would you like to discuss the tenets of Grima? I'm a big fan of the texts of Therbon myself."

"Mooooorg?" Annie wheedled. "Can we maybe wind up the soldier once he takes his sword away from Lionel's neck?"

"Agreed," Lionel returned his attention to the Ylissean, noting at this stage that a few more men had made their way out of the long grass, three of them forming a rough semi-circle around Annie. A few were still on the floor. He really hoped they weren't dead. "You clearly have the numbers here. What do you intend?"

"You're now prisoners of the Ylissean army. Cooperate and no harm will come to you."

Morgan made another frustrated noise. "We don't have time for this. We're looking for the damned Shepherds! We're on your side!"

"You think we'd trust the word of a bloody Pleg—"

"Shut your godsdamned mouth!" Lionel roared, frustration bubbling up from inside of him. "Your attitude is a disgrace to your uniform, and prisoner or no, I will not stand for such talk!"

Silence. The tip of the sword wavered slightly.

"Morgan is Plegian. He's also my friend and I will  _not_ hear you insult him or his heritage again, understood?"

"Yessi—" the soldier coughed, cutting himself off.

"Now have one of these soldiers fetch Sir Frederick," the man stared at him for a moment. Lionel returned the gaze right into his eyes. "We're related. Tell him..." he trailed off. "Tell him that a friend of Marth's wishes to speak to him."

"I—right," the Ylissean looked completely nonplussed, lowering his weapon, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the soldiers. "Bring... bring the three of them together. Yyaris, see if you can get the lieutenant on his feet. Durel, report back to the main force," he returned his attention to Lionel and scowled. "You.. just... hands where I can see them, all right? You may know a few names, but until I say otherwise, you're prisoners." The soldier clasped a hand to the hilt of Lionel's sword and pulled it from its sheath. He resisted the urge to spring on the man. Calm. Calm. He needed to be calm. Lucina would have found her way to Ylisse by now, right? Marth was the cover story she'd told them she would be using, and she was the best and most driven of them. 

"Fine," Lionel growled, holding up his hands in front of him and backing off towards Morgan. A moment later, two more of the soldiers walked Annie on over to them. Another man stooped down and collected Morgan's tome and lance.

Annie let out a sigh as they were reunited, but then slowly smiled. "This is just a misunderstanding. We'll get it cleared up in a second."

"I hope so," Lionel folded his arms and shook his head. "I fear we haven't left the best first impression."

"I think I wouldn't have made a good impression no matter what," Morgan said bitterly. His right hand was up by his cheek, his index and middle fingers touching two eyes of the mark of Grima.

"Yeah, well these guys can—" she thought for a second, and then rattled off a string of very fluent Plegian oaths.

Morgan managed half a smile. "Trust you to learn how to curse before how to say hello."

Lionel leaned over to his friend and touched him gently on the shoulder. "If they can't look past your nationality, that's their problem."

The smile disappeared and Morgan shrugged off Lionel's hand. "They're making it  _our_ problem," he sat down suddenly. The nearby soldiers started in alarm, but then relaxed. Fractionally. "And it's always been my problem."

"Morg..." Annie kneeled down next to him.

"You ever think about why I always used to wear that grey cloak when we fought Grimleal?" he tugged at the sleeve of his coat, long sleeved, a little shabby, dark blue with purple and gold trim. "This is Plegian," he tapped his fingers against his unmarked cheek. "This is Plegian. Show them my face and I might have been killed by the people I was trying to protect."

"Morgan..." Lionel dropped down to a knee too. Morgan's arms were resting on his knees and his expression was blank, morose, staring off at nothing. 

Seeing a dent in his friend's indomitable optimism shook Lionel far more than any confrontation with Ylissean troops. Morgan was—Morgan didn't ever get sad or down in the mouth. He was right there with Cynthia in unrelenting cheer, one of the bright lights in the darkness of their situation. At times it had actually almost been a bit frustrating, as if he wasn't taking their situation seriously with his jokes and 'chin up' attitude.

Lionel was beginning to realise just how naive that belief may have been.

Annie reached out a hand and put it on Morgan's. He didn't pull away, and she squeezed it. "We don't feel that way, Morg. Not about you. Not about any Plegian."

Lionel nodded quickly, added his hand to the pile. Annie's was warm underneath his, Morgan's slightly cool to the touch. "She's right. What matters is who you are, not where you're from."

"Heh... you guys are cheesy," Morgan smiled then, much brighter than before. "But that's enough sad talk. Lionel! I thought you were your dad for a second there! That was awesome!"

"Right!?" Annie lit up too, extracting her hand, practically bouncing with excitement. "You totally have the Scary Frederick down!"

Lionel half smiled, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. He felt he'd been more angry than authoritative, but he was willing to accept the compliment.

Err, it was a compliment, right?

Annie and Morgan were already beginning to chatter away, speculating about who would arrive first and which of their friends were with the Shepherds already, who they were looking forward to seeing the most (the answer was everyone).

Lionel watched his friends closely as they say there together, Morgan closest.

He was smiling, but there was no lustre in those green eyes.


End file.
